


Father

by donnarafiki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, I promise the ending will be fluff, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-10-20 22:43:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10672281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donnarafiki/pseuds/donnarafiki
Summary: Malfoy has never called in sick since he started working at Hogwarts as potions professor, so why did he fail to attend breakfast?Harry goes to investigate and brings him a cup of tea.





	1. Tea

“Where’s Malfoy?” The vacant spot next to professor Sinistra immediately caught his eye. Usually he was greeted every morning with a “Late for breakfast again now, are we? You know you could just set an alarm for once like a normal person.” And Harry would respond with something among the lines of “I’m not a normal person, I’m the chosen one.” Then Malfoy would roll his eyes while Harry did a dramatic hair flip.

He always loved seeing Malfoy struggle to suppress a smile every time he did that, and had gotten quite accustomed to their morning ritual.

“Called in sick this morning. Migraine I believe.” Answered professor Mcgonagall.

“Odd. I don’t believe he’s ever been sick since he started working here.” Professor Sinistra looked a bit worried.

“Shouldn’t someone go check on him?”

“Yes, excellent idea Harry. Why don’t you go bring our favorite Slytherin a nice cup of tea? Maybe mention you still haven’t bought an alarm clock while you’re at it.” Neville always made comments like these and Harry still didn’t know why. He and Malfoy seemed to get along just fine but as soon as Harry suggested Neville should go to him to run an errand or something he always sent Harry instead.

“Uhm, well I don’t think I’ll bother him with my non existing shopping habits but I’ll go and have a look. If someone could cover the first couple of minutes of my second years...?”

“Yes of course Harry.” Sounded the answer from Neville, professor Mcgonagall and Flitwick, who exchanged some knowing looks with each other.

“Right then… I’ll go pay him a visit…” Harry gave his colleagues a strange look.

“You go do that Potter.”

“A task right up your alley.”

“Remember to be safe!” Called Neville after him. Sometimes Harry didn’t really get his co-workers. After giving them another questioning look Harry walked off towards the dungeons. It was too early to deal with their weird behaviour.

 

* * *

 

“Malfoy? Malfoy are you in there?” Harry got no response, but when he pressed his ear to the door he could hear heavy, irregular breathing. Someone was in there at least, and if it wasn’t Malfoy then Harry had to chase the intruder out. And if it was Malfoy then he might be in dire need of help since he didn’t answer.

He decided to open the door.

“Malfoy? Are you in here? I brought tea… “ Harry looked around in the room. It didn’t look like Malfoy was suffering from migraine. The torches on the sides of the walls were burning brightly and illuminated a true mess of a room. Clothes, books, quills and a couple of empty wine bottles decorated the floor.

“Malfoy?” The blond man sat on the middle of his king-sized bed on the far end of the room. He was hugging his knees, and stared out of the window looking out into the great lake. He didn’t respond.

Harry took some tentative steps towards the bed, careful not to trod on anything. “Are you alright? Minerva said…”

His words got stuck in his throat. The closer he got the more he saw. Malfoy was clutching a ministry letter in his hands, the date above the writing told Harry it had arrived the day before. But what shook him the most was that Malfoy was _crying_.

Silent tears were running down his face, showing no sign of stopping any time soon.

“What happened?” Harry put down the steaming mug of tea on the nightstand, shocked. The last time he’d seen Malfoy cry was during sixth year in the bathroom, just before he cocked everything up by nearly murdering him.

Something bad must have happened. Something really bad.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was barely above a whisper. He felt nerves pool in his gut waiting for the answer.

What could have upset Malfoy so much? What on earth could possibly have the power to break the man who even after the war and the trials hadn’t been broken. The man who had turned Slytherin from a mouldy and disgusting mess into a proud and fierce house again, full of students who once more dared to be creative and cunning. The man who had been so strong that even Ron had started to admire his character, though he would never admit it.

“He’s reopening his case. He’s blaming everything on me. _Everything_.” Malfoy drew a couple of shaky breaths. He looked like he could pass out any moment.

Harry suddenly felt his insides turn to ice. It had been ten years since the trials. Ten years. That meant convicts could now ask for a do-over of their case.

He pried the ministry letter from Malfoy’s cramped up hands and read. His frozen insides fell out. Lucius Malfoy was pleading not-guilty, on the grounds that his son had forced him to join Voldemort’s ranks. _His own son. He was blaming everything on his own son._

“I won’t let them do this to you. I won’t let them force you to re-live everything, I won’t.” Harry crumbled up the letter in his shaking hands. He wanted to punch something, or floo to the ministry and tell them exactly why this was not happening, or…

“Please leave.” Sniffled Malfoy. “I need to be alone right now.” It broke Harry’s heart that the man thought Harry could leave him alone when he was in such a high state of distress. If ever there had been a moment when Malfoy should not be alone, it was now.

Malfoy tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, tried to recompose himself. Harry caught his hands. “Don’t. Don’t do that. He betrayed you. He is your father and he betrayed you. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I’m not, Potter.” He tried to free his hands while avoiding Harry’s gaze. “I’m fucking not, I should have been in class ten minutes ago. I can’t… “

“You can. Fuck you Malfoy, for thinking that you don’t even deserve to be upset about this.” Malfoy tried to pull his hands free again, and this time Harry pulled back. Without much resistance Malfoy fell towards Harry, who let go of his hands and wrapped him into a hug.

“Shove it Malfoy.” He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed, holding Malfoy tightly wrapped in his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Malfoy didn’t protest anymore, suddenly he felt all of his energy drain away. He’d barely survived the first trials, repeating everything… It was too much to ask. He didn’t even have the energy to feel ashamed for crying in front of his former rival, his current crush.

He caved and he caved hard. “He is my dad.” Malfoy buried his head in the crook of Harry’s neck, his voice broken by tears. “What kind of monster do you have to be, in order to make your own father hate you?”

 


	2. Try

“Pomona honey!” Called Poppy out. “Urgent letter from Hogwarts for you!” 

Pomona Pomfrey-Sprout smiled when she saw her wife standing in the door of their little cottage. After nearly forty years of marriage she was still very much in love with her. “Coming! I just have one more mandrake to plant!” 

She made quick work of the last little bugger, then hurried off towards the house. It was probably Neville again, asking her for tips on how to handle his particularly nasty first year Ravenclaws, who always tried to corner him with complex questions about subjects more fitted for fifth years. It was a clever technique to disturb lessons and avoid homework.

“Here.” Poppy handed her a cup of tea, the letter and a morning kiss. “If it's Neville again you should tell him to just floo in next time. I haven't seen him in ages.”

“Will do, will do.” She opened the letter.

 

_ Dear Pomona, _

_ I'm sorry to say that Malfoy has fallen ill. It's nothing serious as far as I know, but he won't be able to teach for a while. I persuaded Minerva to let Harry take care of him until he's back on his feet, and I am now taking over the defence classes. I was hoping that you might be willing to replace me in herbology while I do so. It would be greatly appreciated. _

_ Hope to see you soon, _

_ Neville  _

 

Pomona smiled.  _ “ _ As much as I love to see you in just a bathrobe.” She pulled her wife into a hug that became a kiss. “I’m afraid we have to get going. Hogwarts needs us.”

* * *

 

“I hope those two will finally find each other now. Pomona used to grow Devil’s snare, a plant known for it’s slow pollination, but even they never took more than a year to get together.” Madam Pomfrey crossed her legs and took a sip of tea from the cup Neville had offered her. She had arrived ten minutes ago, and while Pomona had immediately left for the gardens, Poppy had stayed with Neville to catch up a bit.

“Did you just compare Malfoy and Harry with Devil’s Snare?” Asked Neville.

“Maybe…” Poppy took another sip of tea, using the cup to hide her smile. It was about time Harry found some happiness, and Malfoy wasn't undeserving of it either after everything he'd done for the school. 

“I think I’d best be off to the greenhouses now. You never know what those first years will do when faced with a new teacher, and my darling girl isn't the youngest anymore.” 

“I don't think we have anything to fear in that department. I suspect even in her sleep she’d still be able to teach seventh year Ravenclaws.”

“I know…” Poppy sighed. “But back in the day I made her fall for me when I helped her with a tough class. I wouldn't mind reliving that moment.” She smiled at the memory.

Neville laughed. “That's actually really cute.”

“Yeah, Pomona and I are sometimes quite  sappy for each other.”

“You mean sapphic for each other?” 

Poppy gave him a sharp, disapproving look. Neville threw his hands up in defence. “I wasn't going to leave that perfect opportunity unused okay, you know me.”

Poppy rolled with her eyes and got ready to leave.

“I’ll see you during lunch!” Called Neville after her. He knew she secretly loved his puns, even though she would never admit it out loud. 

* * *

 

“It's okay. It's going to be okay. I'm here, I'll get you out of this mess. Don't you go thinking that I won't. You're my friend now and I don't fail my friends.” Harry was stroking Malfoy's perfect blond hair. He knew the other man wasn't listening to his ramblings, he'd fallen asleep some time ago, but Harry needed to say it for himself. Needed to believe it was true.

He actually had no idea how he was going to stop Lucius from retrialing except for marching into the ministry and straight up forcing the minister to refuse Draco's dad his basic wizarding rights. Not that he had anything against that idea, but he knew Draco would never accept it.

He sighed, and pulled out his wand to sent a patronus to Minerva, telling her that he wasn't able to teach his classes that day. He didn't want to think about the consequences of the memory he used to conjure it. How he was getting Malfoy out of this mess was his top priority, not the reasons behind his desire to do so.

Harry tried to relax a bit, and tightened his arms around Malfoy. There was a certain calmth coming from his body pressing on top of him. His weight was somewhat reassuring. 

While he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts drifted to that one sentence again.  _ What kind of monster do you have to be, in order to make your own father hate you _ . 

The words had shocked him. Apparently Malfoy blamed himself for what his dad was doing, like after all those years of hard work and good deeds he still somehow hadn't been good enough. Like all of this was caused by him not trying his best instead of his father being a total shitbag.

Harry didn't understand how Malfoy could still love his dad, how he could still care about his opinion after everything he'd done. But he also felt out off his debt, because he didn't know what it was like to have a dad. He had no idea how Malfoy felt and for now he could do nothing more than hold him, tell him it wasn't his fault, hoping that would somehow be enough. 

But deep down he knew it wasn't. 

* * *

 

When the afternoon neared its second half Malfoy slowly started to wake up.

“Hey.” Harry greeted him with a warm smile. Malfoy groaned, and turned his head away.

“Please tell me I didn't cry myself to sleep in your arms.” He whispered.

Harry tightened said arms around him. It was his way of saying that Malfoy shouldn't get weird ideas like getting up, because Harry wasn't letting him go. “You kind of did. But that's okay. We all have our bad days.”

Malfoy let out a huge sigh. “Fuck.” He readjusted himself on top of Harry, a difficult task because Harry's arms held him in a deadlock. “You know you can't solve every problem in the world with a good hug right?”

“I know.” Answered Harry. “But I can try.”

Suddenly he got a broad smile on his face. “Hey Malfoy, you do realise you just called me a good hugger, right?”

“Did I say good?” Malfoy lifted his head from Harry's chest. His eyes were still red from crying, but the despair that had reflected in them earlier was gone. “I meant terrible. You're nearly murdering me in your arms, your shoulders are too bony, your…. Ugh.” Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy even tighter, like he was trying to push all the air out of his lungs.

“What was it you were saying about my hugging qualities?”

Malfoy opened his mouth to answer, but could barely say a word because Harry cranked up his muscle power even more. “Great…” Malfoy gasped for breath. “Greatest hugger…”

“That's what I thought.” And Harry loosened his grip. 

“Asshole”

“Fuckface.” 

Malfoy let his head rest on Harry's chest. They lay silently in each other's arms for a while before Malfoy spoke again. “I suppose there’s no chance…”

“No Malfoy, indeed there isn't. I am not going to not talk about what happened.” Said Harry with a stubborn tone in his voice.

“But…” 

“But what? Malfoy we’ve worked together for two years now. I consider you to be my friend, no matter how weird that might sound. And friends don't abandon each other when something like this happens, even if it's not the easiest subject to talk about.” 

Malfoy sighed, defeated, and rolled off of Harry. “Could we postpone talking about it then? I think it still has to sink in a bit.” 

“Sounds reasonable.” Answered Harry, whose stomach grumbled loudly.

The sound made Malfoy's eyes widen, and he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He looked worried. Even though it had been nearly two years since Harry had beaten his depression, his lack of appetite had never really left. Malfoy hadn't really been lying when he complained about bony shoulders.

"Potter, have you eaten?” Harry was suddenly very busy studying the ceiling.

“You haven't, have you?” Malfoy checked his watch. “Both breakfast and lunch?” Harry sat up as well now, but still refused to look at Malfoy.

“Dammit Potter. You were doing so well before.” 

“But this was to blame on the circumstances!” Said Harry defensively. 

“Circumstances my ass, any normal person would have called a house elf for some food.” Malfoy sounded more concerned that angry. Harry would have prefered him angry, he didn't want anyone worrying about him. Especially not Malfoy, who shouldn't have anything on his mind but his dad at the moment.

"You and I both know I’m not…”

“No, Potter. You are indeed not a normal person, you're the boy who lived. But that doesn't mean you don't need food in order to stay that way.”

“You haven't eaten either though.” Harry realised how weak his excuse was, and he cast his eyes down at the duvet. He knew he should have eaten but it had slipped his mind again, like it so often did.

“I was out cold, you were not. You can't keep skipping meals like this Potter.” Harry slowly looked up, and Malfoy caught and held his gaze. 

Malfoy's eyes were no longer red from crying, instead they contained a spark. A fire.

Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Malfoy like this before. The life in his grey eyes did something with him. It captured him. It calmed him down. It made him believe Malfoy would never not be there to remind him of the little things.

“You care.” The words were soft, surprised, filled with something Harry had never felt before.

“Of course I do.” Malfoy didn't cave this time, though he felt more emotions rush through his veins now then he did that morning. Harry only now noticed Malfoy was holding his hand. “Of course I care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what to think of this chapter, but I have started over three times and this is the best it'll get I think  
> If you still want a pt3 after this mess then you can follow me on @rose-grangerweasleyisbae on tumblr because I update every time I hit a memorable number of followers....


	3. Terminal

“This is getting out of hand.”

“What is getting out of hand?” Asked Pomona.

“Those two.” And Neville pointed at Harry and Malfoy, who were attending breakfast again after two days of absence.

“Last night, I actually dreamed of them. I was smashing their heads together while shouting ”and now kiss”.” He made some aggressive movements with his hands to underline his words.

“Who should kiss?” Asked Malfoy.

“Your mom.” Answered Neville.

Malfoy opened his mouth, offended. “My mother does not…”

“I was joking, I was joking. Djeezus Malfoy, loosen up a bit.” Neville was angry, and suddenly he sprang to his feet and stormed off.

“What was that all about?” Asked Harry looking confused. He hadn’t followed the conversation.

“Nothing you can help.” Said Poppy with a sad look on her face. “Pomona, could you save me some breakfast? It appears I’m needed for damage control.”

“Sure.” Pomona gave her wife a strange look. There was something off about how Poppy looked when she followed Neville.

Like she was on her way to a bad news conversation.

* * *

 

“Its not fair!” Neville kicked a metal trash can. The bang resonated loudly in the greenhouse.

“It’s. Not. Fucking. Fair.” He emphasised every word with another kick.

Poppy grabbed his hands and pulled him back before he broke one of his toes, something he’d done many times before.

“No it isn't, life isn't fair.” She sounded stern and calming, but didn’t say anything else to calm him down.

Life was almost never fair, and sometimes it was downright cruel. No nurse could offer words of comfort when it was. No one could.

After a while Neville started to calm down, and his bottom lip began to tremble. Silent tears ran down his face. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

“You really care for them don't you?”

“Yes. Fucking yes.” Neville's words were interrupted by sobs here and there. “Do you know how many nights I've spent guarding Malfoy’s room to make sure he wouldn’t fling himself of the astronomy tower while no one was looking? Do you know how often I had to make him dittany extract because he kept tearing up his mark? Do you know how hard it was to see Harry slip away into his depression? It’s infuriating that those two can make each other happy but don't. I want to leave something good in this world before I die, is that too much to ask for?”

“No.” Said Poppy, even though she knew better. She had seen so many people die who left nothing but broken families. She feared Neville would be no different. “No of course that’s not too much to ask. But you know you're not responsible for their happiness, right?”

“Yes of course I know that, but I need something else to focus on. Anything better than this.” He looked down at his trembling hands.

“It’s not certain it will kill you. Miracles haven’t left the world yet.” Poppy knew she shouldn’t try to give him hope, but she hadn’t fully accepted his fate yet herself. Couldn’t accept that Neville really was going to die at twenty eight, twenty nine if he was lucky.

“I wish the miracle that is keeping me alive right now would bring them together, instead of buying me more time.”

A year had passed since Neville had been diagnosed with a rare magical autoimmune disease. He should have been dead within weeks but more than a year later he was still alive.

The trembling in his hands told him that it wouldn’t be long anymore though.

“Poppy? Why is this happening to me?” Neville sat down on the floor and held his shaking hands in front of his face. 

Poppy kneeled down next to him and clasped her hands around his shaking fingers. The slight tremble in his voice caused by suppressed tears made Poppy do something she had sworn to never do in front of a patient.

She cried. 

“I don’t know Neville. I honestly don’t know.”

* * *

 

After some minutes peace had returned to the great hall again, but not for long.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Asked Harry sharply. Malfoy had gotten up as soon as he’d seen him eat the last bites of his full english breakfast.

“Class preparation. I’m days behind schedule now and…”

“And you are going to add some more days to that.” Harry got up and followed Malfoy. They had agreed he would stop teaching until he had a plan for handling the upcoming case.

“I am not. You wanted a plan, well I have one. It is not failing my students over small personal matters.”

“Small personal matters!” Harry called out loudly, and he made several students turn their head. Harry got an angry glare from Malfoy and continued in a whispered but still angry tone. “Small personal matters? Malfoy your father is suing you for all you’ve got for no reason other than being an utter arsehole! That is far from a _small personal matter._ ”

“Let me be the judge of that Potter. I have given it enough thought the last three days. I know what I have to do.”

“No you don’t. You promised me we’d talk about this! _This_ is not talking, this is declaring and expecting me to go along with it. But I won’t accept it.”

“And I am not asking you to accept it nor am I declaring anything!” They had reached the dungeon stairs now and Malfoy swiftly turned around. His whispered angry voice was much more impressive than Harry’s.

“Have you ever stopped to think that he might have more reasons for doing this, other than “being an utter arsehole”? Because I did my fair share of awful things, I can promise you that. The entire reason my parents joined Him at all was to keep me safe, to keep me out of harm's way. I never refused or protested or rebelled against anything they wanted me to do. I bloody well nearly murdered your best friend! Part of the blame falls on me and I walked free while my father got a life sentence. It’s only fair of him to ask me to take responsibility in his trial.” Malfoy turned around again and descended the stairs.

It took Harry several seconds to let his words sink in, but when they did…

“Malfoy!” Malfoy did not respond, just kept on walking. “Malfoy!”

“Draco!” Harry ran after him while Malfoy, no, Draco, froze on the spot.

“Don’t think a “you’ve redeemed yourself over the last years” speech is going to make me change my mind. Whatever is coming will come. I’ve waited long enough for the other shoe to drop.” Harry skidded to a halt just as Draco started walking again.

“Don’t do this.” Harry tried to stop him by putting a hand on his shoulder. Draco pushed him away.

“Don’t do _that_. This is my choice, my past, my mistakes, my father and my case. You have nothing to do with it.”

“Yes I do.” Said Harry defiantly.

“No you do not, Potter. You walked into your forest alone, now let me walk into mine.” Harry thought he heard a small crack in Draco’s voice, but he didn’t care.

“Don’t compare this to what I had to do, that was completely different.” He had a cold edge in his voice. No one should, no one would, ever understand what it was like to willingliy walk into your own death. To learn you’ve been raised for the slaughter… Draco might be facing prison time, he wasn’t facing death.

“That was a bad metaphor and I shouldn’t have used it.” Draco regretted his words but didn’t turn around to face Harry. “You need to know I was raised for him, for my family. And though the chances of me surviving Azkaban are very slim, if this is what he wants me to do in order to pay for what I did then I’ll do it. Because I know I deserve at least part of the blame.”

Draco started walking again.

It doomed on Harry that Draco really wouldn’t change his mind if he gave him a speech. He really did believe it was fair of his father to ask him to give up his life. Draco had resigned, given up, accepted that this case, this re-trial, reliving everything, really was the other, inevitable shoe dropping.

It was his time to pay.

_Well screw that._ Thought Harry as he closed the gap between him and Draco. As he shoved the other man against the wall despite being smaller than him. As he pulled Draco’s tie down, hard, to level their faces for something better than any speech could be. “You stay the hell out of that forest you hear me?”

“I can’t.” Draco quickly pulled his tie loose from Harry’s hands and stood upright again. Harry’s nose was pressed into Draco’s chest as the tall man wrapped his arms around him. “But it’s nice of you think that I can.“

“It’s stupid of you to think that you can’t.” Harry’s voice sounded muffled, and suddenly Draco laughed, despite everything. Because Harry bloody Potter was talking against his chest, sounding like he cared so much, _so much_ , about what would happen to him.

“Are you laughing at me?” Harry looked up at Draco. The torches lighting the hallway danced in his emerald eyes.

“No, I am laughing at us.”

And he bridged the last inches that still separated their faces.

And he kissed Harry like he’d never been kissed before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the nect chapter will be better, longer and less of a mess.... Sorry!


	4. Tale

Dried black ink spelled out words on lila ministry parchment. Harry stared at them, let his eyes follow the lines and if anyone would have entered his private quarters at that moment they would have thought he was reading.

But he wasn’t.

He felt like it would be a long time before he could do anything else than sit there, completely frozen. His brain was trying very hard not to let the words sink in.

Because he could not deal with the consequences of the ministry letter. His mind was blank but at the same time racing out of control. His breathing became heavier and faster as his body shut down. His hands were shaking.

_Dear mr. Potter,_

_Below follows the statement of prisoner 394, Lucius Malfoy, who made use of the law for case revision, paragraph seven, rule nine, the right to contact witnesses when the prosecutor has reason to believe new information is of influence on the statement of said witness._

_Below follows the message of prisoner 394._

_Dear mr. Potter,_

_It has come to my attention that you have pledged in favour of the release my son during his trial ten years ago. It has also come to my attention that I never gave you my condolences for the death of your godfather, Sirius Black._

_These things have in common that both involve my son. I do not ask you to withdraw your pledge for him, I am merely providing you with certain information because you have the right to know and my son will never tell you this. He only shows you the parts of him that he wants you to see._

_On the night of the seventeenth of june 1996, one day before the ordeal in the ministry that cost Sirius Black his life, The Dark Lord received a letter. It was a letter written by my son, who judging by the tone of his words seemed upset with you, mr. Potter. It explained in length what your weak spot might be, and how He could benefit from that in the best way._

_The biggest part of what happened that fatal night was carefully planned out by the man you have started to call your friend. Of course he will deny ever having written this letter, but I have proof. A copy of said proof can be found in the envelope in which this letter came. I do not doubt your ability to recognize the handwriting._

_Draco Malfoy might have led you to believe not all Slytherins are evil, but as you can see that is a bit rich coming from him._

_I leave what you will do with this information to your own judgement. I hope you make the right decision this time. I need not to remind you that lives are at stake._

_Sincerely, Lucius Malfoy_

_This statement has been approved by the Ministry of Magic, department of Magical Law Enforcement, subdivision Prison Correspondence_

Harry didn’t know how he gathered the strength to look into the envelope again but somehow he did and to his horror he indeed found another piece of parchment. The letter was unmistakably written and signed by one Draco Lucius Malfoy on the seventeenth of june 1996.

He was going to be sick.

* * *

 

_I have told Potter what you did and left it up to him what he will do about it. As I have tried to teach you before, if you misbehave you have to deal with the consequences. It’s only fair._

_Sincerely_

_your father, who raised you to do what is best for the family. Remember what you are._

It was the second line that sent a shiver down Draco’s spine and not the first, though the first shattered his last hope of a normal life and the second just reminded him of what used to be. Briefly the memory of pain came back to him, his skin feeling as if the wounds were still there.

It brought him back to his childhood, made him feel like a bad behaving kid again, who had to be punished. Or rather, like his childhood self after having been punished. Every nerve ending in his body was on fire with the memory of his past.

It was why Draco sat on top of his king size bed again, a letter clutched in his hands, silent tears streaming down his face. But Harry wouldn’t enter with a steaming mug of tea this time, wouldn’t hug him or tell him all would be okay. Because the possibility of everything being okay had never been further away than now.

He allowed his thoughts to go over his memories of Harry one last time. Their first kiss a few hours ago, the many kisses that followed. He wanted to burn the picture of Harry’s gentle smile in his mind. The look on his face when he broke their kiss, the spark in his eyes as he smiled and kissed him again, the sweet nothing he whispered in Draco’s ear when he saw his hands were shaking.

“Don’t be nervous Draco. Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

Another shiver went down his spine as he tried to say those words out loud. They got stuck in his throat halfway through.

He was not capable of picturing Harry’s face anymore without seeing hatred in his green eyes. The Harry in Draco’s mind despised him, as the real Harry probably did too now.

Draco couldn’t blame him, he probably hated himself even more than Harry did.

* * *

 

Ronald Weasley had a bad feeling about this, about all of it. He was the first one to admit he’d thought Draco might have ulterior motives for doing what he did, for turning into a good person, but these accusations were ridiculous. Draco Malfoy the evil mastermind who used torture and abuse to drive his parents into the hands of You Know Who?

He didn’t buy it. He didn’t buy it for one second.

Still, Lucius Malfoy had the right to reopen his case and as standard procedure that meant securing the suspects connected to it. For people marked as dangerous individuals such as Draco that entailed being brought in. It was why Ron was currently knocking on the door of his private quarters.

“Don’t knock on his door, just blow it out of it’s hinges. This is a death eater we’re talking about Weasley.” Ron let out an angry sigh. He got sick to his stomach when he saw how much hatred some people still felt towards Draco.

“Ex-death eater, and he’s only a suspect not a convict.”

“Whatever. In my opinion they all deserve to rot in Azkaban for the rest of their lives.” Ron’s bulky, broad shouldered auror partner threw the door open. He immediately fixated his eyes on Draco. The blond man was sitting on his bed, quickly trying to wipe away his tears.

“Crying for your mummy already ferret face? Don’t get yourself worked up too much or the dementors won’t have any happiness left to eat!” And he laughed loud and long, like he’d just made the best joke of the century.

“Get a grip on yourself Smith, it’s just a holding cell.” Ron tried not to look Draco in the eye as he walked towards the man and pulled out his prisoner binders, a variation on handcuffs. He could only imagine how awkward it must be for the man to be arrested by his former classmate and house rival. Ron’s attempt was so successful, he didn’t even notice how upset Draco was.

“I really am sorry for this Malfoy. It’s standard procedure when people with a certain history are suspect in a high profile case.” His words were genuine.

“Don’t apologize! He deserves everything that’s coming to him, that filthy…”

“Don’t make me pull rank on you Smith. One more word and you’ll be on desk duty for the next five months.” Ron glared at his partner. It wouldn’t be his first time punishing a lower ranked colleague for behaviour like this. They didn’t seem to grasp the idea that people could change and that not everything was a matter of black or white, good or evil.

Smith grumbled something and got Draco ready to floo to the ministry. Up until that moment the man had been silent, but when Smith pushed him into the green transportation flames he opened his mouth. “Could you tell Harry to think about the planning? Because it doesn’t make sense.”

Ron could hear Draco’s voice was shaking, and looking into his grey eyes he saw the man was terrified. However Draco was swallowed by the floo before Ron could ask him what this cryptic message meant.

He hoped it didn’t matter much, because his shift was nearly over and he wouldn’t be back at work for at least a week. He and Hermione were in dire need of some personal time together.

Before stepping into the floo himself he saw a scrap of parchment on the floor. Curiously he picked it up.

_I have told Potter what you did and left it up to him what he will do about it. As I have tried to teach you before, if you misbehave you have to deal with the consequences. It’s only fair._

_Sincerely_

_your father, who raised you to do what is best for the family. Remember what you are._

“Remember what you are?” Ron muttered to himself. What the hell was that supposed to mean? And what had Lucius told Harry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so not longer than the last one, also not better or less of a mess I am sorry but also I've been running on less than 6 hours of sleep for 5 days and as a busy 17 year old that is not a good idea. Please tell me it there are any mistakes in it. I won't be offended or anything and will fix it right away. This story does not have a beta reader and im still not english. Would be pretty cool if i turned english over night but im pretty much stuck in holland for the moment


	5. Traitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter lives up to the expectations, it was supposed to be a bit longer but I didn't have the time to write the next scene and I'm on my way to a festival for 3 days in a few hours and i thought it would take too long otherwise.

“Harry!” Ron knocked impatiently on the rough wooden surface of Harry's door. A feeling of pride swelled up in his chest as he read the words  _ Harry Potter, Defence Against The Dark Arts Professor  _ on a shiny copper plate. His friend, his best friend in the whole wide world, had beaten Voldemort, his depression and on top of that he now had his dream job. Ron could not be more proud of him, and despite the Malfoy business he was grinning like a loon when the door swung open. 

“He killed Sirius.” 

“Uhm, what?” Ron's cheery mood evaporated in a heartbeat. He only knew Harry had spoken because he recognized his voice. The room was nearly pitch black as the curtains were drawn shut. “Harry what are you talking about? Bellatrix killed Sirius over a decade ago.” 

“But it was his idea. Draco-  _ Malfoy’s,  _ idea.” Once Ron’s eyes got used to the lack of light he could make out a trembling silhouette on the bed. Harry pushed a crumbled piece of parchment across the floor towards him with a contempt Ron hadn’t known was possible for such a simple movement.

There was only anger in his voice, the entire demeanour of his friend radiated fury. Ron inched towards him. “Harry mate, what are you talking about?” 

“Read it. It’s disgusting.  _ He _ is disgusting” Harry spat out. He refused to look at either the papers or Ron, who was now walking on eggshells around him. He knew anger like this. He had seen it often enough in the face of those who had just lost someone dear. They turned their grief into rage aimed at the world, the system, the auror in charge, in a desperate attempt to avoid the gaping emptiness their loss would bestow on them once they let it. 

“What is this Harry?” He kneeled down to pick up the papers, discovering they'd been dampened by tears. Harry's fury was a recent thing then. Currently his eyes were dry, with a fire blazing in them that was distinguishable even in the dark.

“It's despicable, what that… that…  _ traitor _ did. Let us all believe he learned his lesson while the skeletons were piling up in his closet. Sirius' skeleton for merlin's sake! Sirius!”

Ron had never been more grateful for Hermione teaching him fast reading techniques, and just before Harry lost it he scanned over the last line. “Harry-.”

“He murdered my godfather Ron! I trusted him! I bloody well kissed him this morning! And now this!” Harry jumped to his feet and started pacing up and down the dark room.

“Harry.” Ron attempted to butt in again, not phased by his confession about kissing Malfoy. Anyone in their right mind could have seen that one coming.

“It’s his handwriting Ron! And the date! He bloody well nearly failed his exams in fifth year because he was plotting his death! I-”

“Harry!” Ron was getting tired of being interrupted by Harry who was becoming more and more worked up with every word that left his lips. To get the attention of his best friend he pulled the curtains open and let in a massive amount of sunlight. 

Harry flinched. His teaching robes were crumpled and his cheeks flushed bright red. He aimed his best furious glare at Ron. “Leave that! An leave me so I can fucking well murder him just like he murdered-”

“HARRY!” Ron’s voice boomed through the chamber and bounced off the ancient walls. Shocked by the authority in Ron’s tone Harry froze. Ron was not one to raise his voice if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. “Calm your fucking tits mate. Malfoy was in the infirmary the entire day on the seventeenth, remember? There’s no way he could have written this.”

“Hospitalized people can still write, Ronald.” Harry bit at him, slightly deflated but still angry. “He was sick, not dead. Not like Sirius.”

There was a crack in his voice as the last word came across his lips. Harry was shaking a little. Ron braced himself as he prepared to interrupt the next tirade of his friend. 

“He wasn’t dead Harry.” He had dropped his authoritative attitude. Carefully Ron stepped closer. “But his hands were. For the past month I’ve been going over his case again, checking every alibi he had. He was in the hospital wing recovering from a severe muscle infection in his hands, caused by too many hours of cramped up exam writing. Hermione had it too during her N.E.W.T.’s in eight year.”

“He must have been faking it then as an excuse. He was perfectly alright the next day when he kept you and the others from the DA locked up in Umbridge’s office. He’s a bloody death-eater Ron, he won’t have any problems with a bit of memory modification.” The word death-eater tasted strange and bitter in Harry’s mouth. He hadn’t spoken out loud about the war in ages, and doing so now dragged old memories of grief and hate to the surface that hadn’t seen the light of day in years. He felt like he might drown in them.

“ _ Ex- _ death eater. And he didn’t fake it, I checked both Pomfrey’s archive and her memory of that day. It’s genuine.” Ron tried to put a reassuring arm on Harry’s shoulder but the man shrugged it off, still extremely worked up.

“Then why didn’t he say so! He knew I had this, Lucius clearly stated that under the evidence letter,” Harry nearly tore the ragged papers in half as he yanked them from Ron’s fingers, “but he couldn’t be arsed to get up here and tell me he didn’t write it?”

“He didn't come up here because I arrested him this afternoon Harry. As a standard procedure for a high profile case, not because we think he did anything we didn't know about before.” He rushed his words as he glanced at the letter clutched in Harry's fists. He wanted to put his friend at ease as soon as possible, so he didn’t leave him any space to interrupt him and get even more worked up. “We didn't receive that letter as evidence either, and if we had it would have been disregarded at once for being false. This is his father's desperate last attempt to keep you from pledging for him again, with your word against his this case doesn't stand a chance and he bloody well knows it.” 

Gently Ron pried the letter from Harry's hands. “I don’t believe the subdivision prison correspondence even exists.”

Harry’s eyes finally met his, and suddenly Ron understood the comparison between them and the eyes of a doe. Though they were green instead of brown they seemed to be bigger than usual, and the emotion laid bare in their reflection was enough to last a lifetime. 

Shock. How could anyone be so extremely self-centered they were willing to imprison their own child to get what they wanted?

Guilt. It had taken only one letter from Draco’s abusive father to let Harry lose faith in him.

Relieve. Draco wasn’t the traitor Harry had believed him to be for the past horrible hours.

Determination. Even if it would be the last thing he’d ever do, Draco was getting out of prison within the next hour so that Harry could wrap him in a bone-crushing hug and snog him senseless. 

But then another emotion took over all the others; fear. If Draco was locked up now, in what state would Harry find him? He had said himself he wouldn’t survive Azkaban again.

“You arrested him?” Ron nodded. He had clearly come a long way since his emotional range of a teaspoon state in fifth year.

“Then we have to get him out. Now.”

* * *

 

Draco cursed himself. He had no memory of ever writing the letter his father was talking about, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t written it. His mind was filled with gaps around that time, and though they were larger in number around his sixth and seventh year he had some during his fifth. 

At first he’d been convinced his father was framing him, but now… 

Staring at the wall of his cell he started to doubt his own reasoning more and more. At some point he even started to regret the words he’d spoken to Ron. What if Harry figured out what they meant? What would happen if Harry believed in his innocence, only to find out that Draco really had betrayed him? Was he really as bad as people led him to believe?

For the first time Draco wished he could remember every part of the war. He wanted every lock to be broken, every dark corner to be lit. Every mistake to surface.

Lucius was his father, of course he wouldn’t want to lock up his own son without reason. He knew better. His father always knew better. Draco had done these things. Draco had pushed his inner monster away but it was still there. It clawed at him. Soon it would claw at other people. Hurt other people. Kill other people. 

His father just wanted to protect them, protect Harry. 

_ Harry… _

“Guard!” He called out. “Guard!” The broad shouldered man who’d arrested him earlier that day came to his cell.

“What do you want, ferret face?” He sneered, his voice filled with hatred. Justified hatred.

“I want to confess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my wonderful Beta @selectivegeekwithstandards (though still blame all the mistakes on me, I didn't give her time to read the final edit bc of the previously mentioned festival... Sorry!)  
> as I said this chapter was supposed to be longer so I hope the lack of cliffhanger isn't too dissapointing

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of a work that I am trying to write for my tumblr blog. The idea is that every time I hit a certain number of followers I write an extra chapter. I might publish them here before I post them on my blog if that's something you guys really want. (pls leave a comment if you do)  
> If you want me to write a new chapter faster you can help by following me on @rose-grangerweasleyisbae


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